Notes found on the refrigerator…April 17,18, 2020

April 17, 2020

i have no place to be going to

and with no hurry to get there

it seems, i have been here before.

 

there is no place to go

other than where i was going.

i am caged within the parameters

of whom i am.

 

my walk is slow and secure—

as I find where i am going;

with wisdom, compassion, and the knowledge

of understanding of who i am.

 

walk slowly.

 

4/18/2020

 

17 days in Q [Haibun]

     Friday afternoons are a strange time of the day for me. Sometime I skip the mornings and late-night dishes; then go out to the safest places I know. Usually to the local grocery store and buy things I’ve never bought before.

     It doesn’t take long to go about short business before I’m back in my “cave”; 4 o’clock and I’m lost on what to do. I hear the cuckoo clock in my head, telling me to go do the dishes then make myself something to eat. Again. I’m coming 😊

Wheels turn when moved

Birds fly from perch of safety

Rain shelters us all

Advertisement

 

Notes found on the refrigerator June 2019

I burnt my breakfast with brown butter and garlic.

It rose above the perfumed oiled scent of progress;

—creeping through the cracks of window sills

wafting  silently,  carrying the day’s

chain-linked smog…breaking in with

—my paycheck’s upcoming arena.

Oops, I meant, aroma;

at that moment I choose to linger

asking for a cherry tree.

I welcome the reservation that you

have set aside for me.

No need to build me a fence—

I am locked inside.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Do I talk to myself? Him and me?

Of course! Who else would listen?

How would I know when to stoke the wood stove

and make coffee, home fries, and scramble eggs?

I always tell myself what to do.

I am vetted by my soul

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

what ever gets you through the door

 

with remorse for the past

forgiven for illusions

you can enter

and begin to teach

yourself

without your apologies

nor being forgiven

but with forgiving.

Hey!

whatever gets you through the door.

anyone up for coffee,

home fries, and scramble eggs?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Earth raises up seed

Shinning  light sinking on sea

Blinking bright new stars

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Pensées sur “l’être et le néant”

(Thoughts on “Being and nothingness” Jean-Paul Sartre)

In late afternoons, the winter sun slips

through a hazy kitchen window —casting a small bright light

on the wooden floor.

Some days I walk around it.

Some days I walk through it.

Some days, I never even see it!

Then —there are some days when I spot it.

I pick it up —and put it in my shirt pocket;

the one closes to my heart,

collecting warm engagements for my upcoming spring.

~~~~~

Owl’s nest sits high in the shadow of a branch

Wind flickers in glint moonlight through the leaves

—of the predator’s eyes.

Prey —feasting on ignorance,

feeds on “chance.”

Unaware of their “self’s” demise.

Sun light? —To either of them?

Is always an enlightened surprise.

~~~~~

 

Five Verses From a Brief Visit This Solstice With Ch’an

On Judgment:

“If we didn’t see things fine and coarse

How could prejudice exist?”

~Relying on Mind~ Ch’an master Seng-Ts’an (J., Sozan)

 

~~~~~

I practiced non-discrimination

and had smiled often at my gestures—

until I was slapped by a whisk.

~~~~~

I understand how wrong I’ve been

and the shame I have brought to the other—

Each day wakes me quieter  —clearer than ever.

~

Moments may be still –yet moves forever.

~~~~~

Causes are great —equal to the clouds

one may be greater than the other.

Dew is clear as no sound is loud.

~~~~~

What is it that I see— to bench myself in judgment?

Opinions are statutes!

Saddle my horse—

Giddy-up! I shall ride with the outlaws.

~~~~~

How does one heal from history

With its invisible scars and drooping eyes?

Thatch a new roof— and shush the flies.

“Jesus said:

If two make peace with each other

In this single house,

They will say to the mountain

“Move away”

And it shall move.””

 

~The Gospel of Thomas~[48p n] presented by Huge McGregor Ross

 

 

 ~Pine Cone Diary~ -proof 2018

 

Turn The Light Back On

Sundown was sinking from a ridge on Holderness road

Inviting me, or so I thought, to turn off –my one light on.

(The one I had turned on, when darkness was creeping along).

 

I could see as I stared out from my large window—

 the only one in my cave— a dimming invitation

for a quick evenings celebration; honoring a season’s resignation.

 

 

I wanted to meet her –to greet her,

Before the winter moon rose to extinguish  

her completed season’s accomplishments.

 

I left the house in a goose down vest,

donning my formal Pendleton— wide brim’s best.

Without a thought, I walked many steps

 

going about my way.

Until I opened my eyes

on an illuminated path of autumn amber pine needles

 

glowing from the rising moon and sunlight’s sunset.

They met and greeted me with giggles and mutual song.

I caught their transition between darkness and dawn.

 

They kissed each other… as the moon

asked me— to go inside

and turn the light, back on.

 

Photo by RKG…  Holdernes Rd. Center Sandwich NH

 

Autumn Haiku(s) 2017

 

I taste food at dusk

I eat my meal in the light

by shadow of moon

 

Blue Haiku(s)

Blue mussels cling rocks

Tide and moon are true lovers

Boiling for supper

****

Blue skies parting leaves

Green grass below aging feet

Balance beneath me

****

Blue birds sang in spring

Announcing flower trumpets

Shook summer to rise

****

Morning Glory blue

Summer’s last call before fall

Welcomes winter frost

****

 

Quadrille #38

( write a poem of precisely 44 words, including the word dream.)

Notes found on the refrigerator[8/14/17]

    I was brought up to be a Jesuit Priest, but destined to live the life of a monk. Escaping the nun’s training, because of their aversion to listening to Hank William’s “Your Cheatin’ Heart” playing in the background— I dreamed as the early mystics.

 

 

Notes Found On The Refrigerator July 2017

A Melancholy song

Songs are hidden in the words we speak. —sometimes in harmony

with the background hum of those we did not

know or ever meet.

 

 Our melody can sometimes be disheartening

 as well as our belly aching, vomiting

between the screeching cacophonous dominant notes

we may have perceived.

 

My music repetitively keeps playing yesterday’s Rock & Roll songs,

Rhythm & Blues songs, gospel’s black and white songs

—they are all fine—

 

 But, go to the window and lift the shade

and hum them—

 as you look at the sun and the future of rain.

 

Sing off-key if you must —loud and unalarmed.

Sing the songs that are hidden in the conscience that spoke without a word-

putting you in music unharmed.

 

Hum the song for unity in freedom

that has morally and musically given us;

without disrespect to life in the words

or thoughts written in our songs.

Or, what we sing.

*****

The Banjo Player

    I was talking to an old banjo player, pushing a 103 yrs old the other day. I asked him how his band was doing. “Well,” he said, wiping his face with one hand. “It’s over. There were four of us. One is dead, which left three of us unable to play his part and ours at the same time. Besides that, one is as Cuckoo as a broken string. The other young fella, in his late eighties, besides losing his hair has also, seemingly, lost the beat. Towards the end, we realized we were all playing different tunes insisting the other guy was messing up… and looking at each other with the stare of “each of us had better catch-up”. And, what was worst, when we were all on the same song, forgetting the words, we would automatically pick people out in the audience and break out into “Happy Birthday, to You…”.

We still keep in touch…”’

    There was a moment of silence, thinking he was reminiscing when he suddenly blurted out, “Now where was I? Oh ya! That was quite a box of good cigars”, sitting back in his chair with a great big smile.

*****

Oh sea glass greening

Passing through low and high tides

Speckling at my feet

*****

 The path once well-worn

 Through the passing of my youth

Is now overgrown

**** 

 

I Shall Grow

 

 

     I went out on the deck—felt the wind before the jibe caught the blow of a vengeful breeze. The keel visibly surfaced two feet below foaming water, in awkward lean. Water marks on the board, as visible as eye could see—  Oh shit! I braced myself against the rail leaning on tippy-toes in the opposite direction.

     I went below. I rocked, and balanced myself with each swell before the waves, catching myself with arms extended against the polished teak walls in the bow;

     I recognized, remembering the keel’s markings— of my life and against the rail, being driven across the reef of tomorrow.

 

I shall grow old— as sea mist foams in after life

 

A New Day For Love (Rev.5)

 (click on the red circle and white arrow then scroll as you listen and read 🙂

 

A New Day For Love

Wearing in mid-May, on another cold night,

An old worn night-shirt with faded stars and moon.

Blinds closed in the living room,

Shut tight from years of lost nights

Alone, I dimmed the lights.

 

I traded my night-shirt, for all those sad dreams.

I opened curtains, pushed them back

And cracked the blinds to let in sunlight.

Opening the door to the ‘morrow

Wearing new sneakers and comfortable jeans,

 

I heard you knock.

Kissing me on the lips

As I opened the door,

You held my face,

blushing my cheeks.